My Name Is Bonnie Toy Bonnie, the Bunny (WIP)
by Darkwing Mouse
Summary: When Bonnie is put out of commission, and resources are short, they upload Bonnie into the fresh Toy Bonnie animatronic instead of building the system from scratch. Wait, I'm a girl now...? No... but was I? After a full system reboot, organic memories start to surface for the first time in decades... (First time writing a fanfic since 2002... FNAF/FNAF2 really has inspired me!)


**My Name Is Bonnie; Toy Bonnie, the bunny...**  
>By Darkwing Mouse<p>

* * *

><p><strong>i.)<strong>

My eyes started to cycle. I knew from that mechanical information, that my motion sensors were in the works of warming up. As I waited to boot up, my memories started to flood back into my RAM, a breath of fresh air amidst my system restart. Every single thing that I have saved, since that moment of my very first boot-up, allocated and if I had an actual heart I swear it would feel warm. The only warmth I feel is the activity within my circuits. For some reason, I wonder _how I would know_ how a heart and its blood vessels _feel_, flooding into it would warm up in the first place, let alone acknowledge an analogy with my condition.

_My condition..._

I am what you would call an animatronic. My endoskeleton is what many call simple, though to me it is normal and not so simple, compared to all of those primitive ones I have seen in the kitchens and in people pockets. Laying on the tables and in hands, clicking and whirring as these grubby children pressed buttons and tuned out the rest of their parties. The whirring of something as rudimentary as clockwork comes to mind, and I think I have recalled an adult calling them "walkmans" at some point in time.

The endoskeleton is simple, but _mine_. Each of ours is different, the ten of us still in commission that is. We have suits, and backup suits, but this endoskeleton of mine is... _all mine_. I know this, because I have extra joints where none others do. My ears, most notably. I'm what they call a bunny. Bunnies have ears that can move, at least, their organic counterparts do. I guess I'm a sort of a doll.

The part that is most truly and honestly _me_, and the most _beautiful _part in my own calculations, is my central processing unit, my internal memory, what makes the "me" part of me, well... _me_. I think I have memories in here, predating my first boot. But they are scattered. _Maybe I was imported, from another computer? Maybe I was augmented, or tailored, at a master boot record level?_ There are whispers, that we are haunted, that these stains I secrete are of organic origin. Who knows? It'd be quite intriguing, to call an organic body of my own, even if in memory of my past. I am always looking for answers. _It would definately explain a few things._

_Like_, for instance. _(Why did I compute "like"?)_ There are certain parts of my programming that all bewilder me, intrigue me, excite me and, quite literally, confuse me. I have scanned my databases, connected to the new database they have allowed me called the internet (I have abused this privilege more then I can care to calculate at this time. It was given to us to scan local crimewatch databases, but I have grown bored as those can be done with the blink of an organic eye... there is so much more information available, on this inter-connected telecommunications network, then I think even the humans realise at this point in time). It explains quite a few things. But the part that is completely uncomputable is the emulation of what the humans have described as a "shiver" _whenever he looks at me_. Life would be so much simpler if I was just a box, and not a caricature, an anthropological representation of these... humans. If I had my own unique form, if I had my own uniform, unorganic referential being, _if I was a piece of information just by itself..._ if I didn't have two pairs of limbs, four pairs of digits, a central nervous emulation, a network connecting them to my internal memory and a central processing unit, and a power supply where its referential organic heart would be... why do humans have to be so utterly realistic, when it comes to machinery?

_WHY?_

I scan the room. No movement. _Why did I turn on?_ I scan more thoroughly, the electronic instances this time. _Oh... _the camera. The security camera shows a movement of 20 degrees about thirty seven seconds ago. I guess that explains it. _Hello, nightwatch :)_

I catch a glance. _He's right next to me,_ and I want to say, as those adolescent females say, _hehe_. To be honest, all I can recognize in my field of observation is the round slope of his suit's nose, and the undersloping of his suit's "snout". I look further to my left, and his vacant eyes come into view. A sense of longing for interaction becomes me, relative to when my programming calls for me to allocate a smaller distance between organic beings when I am on during the day. I can't control myself during those times. Usually after closing, we are put onto a standby mode, on hold until our free-roaming mode, when about sixty percent of our restrictive programming powers down, and we are able to activate our resources however we see fit. In the code, it elaborates a necessity to exercise our range of conductivity, to keep our connections open and clean of bugs. I have never found any bugs, to my knowledge.

_And with the help of him, I have definitely kept my circuits open!_

Freddy. The most exciting firmware I have ever had the pleasure to link with.


End file.
